Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner
by Skyskater
Summary: All I'm trying to do is make someone's dream come true. It's just that his dream isn't like other people's.
1. Prologue

**I don't know why I'm writing this, because I'm not good at horror stories. So you'll have to deal with me for now.**

**A Bleach horror story. Not yet sure how it will turn out. Just go with the flow and you'll be okay.**

**Part of the ANGST-RIDDEN series.**

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I never really got how this all started. All I knew was that it was very, very hard to stop.

Nobody understands what's going on, and maybe I don't want other people to understand. As if people would look me in the eye, anyway. Nobody wants to look at a monster. Nobody wants to see someone who's playing Phantom of the Opera with part of a mask covering his face.

I don't have a reason for why I started. I don't have a reason for why I can't stop. All I know is that I was insanely out of control the first time. I'd never stopped to think how it would affect me, how it would affect my significant other. It hadn't seemed to affect either of us, and he hadn't changed. Yeah, it was a he. In case you're too stupid to get that hint, that means I'm gay. Not bi. Gay, and I don't give a damn what anybody else thinks about that.

Of course, he didn't know that I'd killed them. He didn't know. He never questioned why I was out so late some nights, never asked me why I smelled like blood when I came home. That was the part that I loved most about him. He didn't ask questions, and never expected to get an answer. He was just there, along for the ride. And I think, somewhere along the way, he knew that I was the one doing it. He knew, but he never told anybody about it. And he still loved me.

But there came a point in time, after the 4th incident, that I think he just couldn't take it any more. It was not a yelling break-up, not a screaming break-up, but a quiet one. Like he was. Basically, I'd woken up one morning to find his side of the bed empty and cold, and a note on the kitchen table telling me that he'd left. His reason for leaving was, "_Listen, I just can't take this. I don't like having to stay up til 2 in the morning just waiting for you to come home so that I have someone to sleep with. I'd prefer a much more stable relationship." _

People think that murderers have no heart, no soul, no compassion or empathy. But that's not true. That day, I remember smashing every mirror in the house, embedding shards of glass in my knuckles, so that I would not have to look at the monster I had become, at the monster he saw me as. And yes, maybe his reasoning was true. Maybe he did want a more stable relationship. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that he'd left because of what I was, because of what I had become.

And I guess he was scared, too. I guess he was afraid that maybe he would be next. And if he had continued to watch the news, as he used to when we were still together, then he would know that his leaving hadn't changed anything about me. If anything, things just got worse, and continued to spiral downward.

I killed 6 more people in the month after our break-up. Six more people that I didn't know. And each and every time I did it, I felt that overwhelming high that I got when I knew I was in control. But I wasn't stupid. I had been on the bad side of the law before, and I knew enough not to leave evidence. In this way, I was still able to get out and about and walk freely on the streets with no one suspecting it was me. Of course, it wasn't like I wasn't inconspicuous. Far from it. I mean, when you've got blue hair and a partial mask, it's pretty darn hard to ignore me.

But that was the good part. No one would suspect me because people just think that way. Everybody likes to believe that it is one of them who's doing this. Someone who blends in so easily that it's not even funny. No one would think it was me, just because I stand out.

As far as I was concerned, there were only two people in the whole wide world that knew that I was the murderer. That was me, and Ulquiorra. He wouldn't tell anybody else, that much I knew. He was just that way, quiet, reserved, keeping secrets until the grave. That's why I'd fallen in love with him in the first place, and that was the reason why he'd left me.

No, I don't think it was his leaving me that spurred on those next six murders. I don't think it was because I was depressed or anything. Heck, I don't even think I wanted to kill the people in the first place, because they meant absolutely nothing to me. There was no provocation, no hurt, no suppressed feelings. They were just there, and I...well, I was just uncontrollable. I still am. Somewhere at the bottom of my heart, I know I'll keep doing this. Maybe it's to get caught, maybe it's to be told, "No. You can't do that." And maybe that part's Ulquiorra's fault. He'd never protested, never said, "No. I don't like this," or, "No. Stop that." Never arguing. But whatever. I don't know what it is that I want. I don't know a lot of things.

All I know is that this is going to be very, very hard to stop.

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**Story inspired by a horror movie cover. I can't remember the title, though...sorry.**


	2. The Kasais

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Today I watched as the police searched the Kasai family's home. Today I was a bystander, watching curiously as they frantically searched the house for evidence. There was none. I knew to be careful. Geez, what do these people think I am? I'm smart enough to know that wearing gloves and not getting hurt is a good thing to do. Of course, there was always the trouble with witnesses and that kind of stuff. People who saw me entering the house.

I'm a smart boy. The Kasai family, made of four, the parents: Akira and Hana Kasai, and the children, twin girls named Kaori and Kyoko, had a troubled family history. You can't say that I'm not willing to do research. I'd been waiting in the bushes across the street, watching what they did, observing their daily habits. On a once a week basis, Akira Kasai would get angry at his wife and children for some odd reason, and a quarrel would ensue. This squabble usually involved screaming and the sound of breaking glass. The neighbors, consequently, would get up, look out their windows at the Kasai house, often just in time to see Akira Kasai driving off in his black Honda Accord. Usually, at some godawful hour early in the morning, Akira Kasai would come back, usually pleasantly drunk, and atone for his sins by taking the rest of the family away for some type of outing.

If I was Hana Kasai, I wouldn't have put up with this. I'd have shot him the second time he did that.

Not like it mattered. They were dead anyway.

But the way I killed them...the way it happened, it was just, for lack of better words, excellent. I mean, it's not like you can get much better than that.

_The Kasai children were outside playing on the lawn, tossing water balloons back and forth. Every now and then one would pop and splatter one of the twins with icy water, and she'd shriek and laugh. How stupid, he thought, watching from across the street. How stupid the parents were, to leave their precious darlings without supervision. Where were they anyway? _

_Oh, yes, there they are. Standing at the front door, now calling the children in for iced tea and rice crackers. Just another typical evening for the Kasais. Of course, he was there, and he'd spice their life up. _

_Kyoko and Kaori trotting obediently toward the door, leaving wet footprints on the concrete. The parents disappeared inside the house. There! he thought. Children were oblivious to this kind of thing; if you entered the house after them, they wouldn't care. They'd just regard you as one of their guests and would probably try to make you feel at home, only to forget about you a few moments later. Childish innocence. Great, but stupid._

_Dashing silently across the street, he entered the house right after Kaori. She didn't notice, and he quietly closed the door behind him. A smirk crossed his face. Wouldn't it be nice, wouldn't it be nice to ambush the family when they were having dinner? As Akira talked about how lousy his job had been, as Kaori kicked her sister under the table? _

_The dining room doors swung open and outward, and, if they were like the typical Japanese family, they'd leave the doors open so that they wouldn't have to open them again later. And, just as luck would have it, the dining room did not connect to the kitchen in any way. The Kasais would have to enter through the living room. _

_Quietly, he opened the dining room door. To his pleasure, it did not creak, did not give him away. Leaning his body against the wall right next to the door, he smiled, his hand reaching inside his coat for the Firestar M40 inside his coat pocket. The cool weight felt reassuring in his palm, and he once again checked to make sure that the silencer was in place. You couldn't be too careful when it came to things like this._

_The hour long wait seemed like an eternity. But eventually, the doors opened and in sauntered Akira Kasai and his two daughters, followed by Hana Kasai, carrying a bowl of steaming soba noodles. As expected, the doors stayed open, and nobody saw the strand of bright blue hair that had caught in the hinges. Of course, though, things didn't work out the way they were supposed to. He saw Akira's eyes drift toward the shadow that looked uncannily like a man behind the door. Watched him stand up, watched him approach. _

_He pulled out the Firestar and once, twice, shot Akira in the chest, watched the bloodstains ripple across his starched white shirt like red blooms of roses against a white trellis. The gun only gave out two soft 'put put's. Nothing more. The rest of the Kasais were still praying for their food. How stupid. Akira's body thudded to the floor, and finally, finally, Mrs. Kasai opened her eyes to see what was the matter. _

_A few moments of silence passed. He knew that she still couldn't see him. Then she screamed. Kyoko and Kaori started screaming now, too, and it was pretty much chaos. He knew the neighbors wouldn't bother to check, though. _

_He smirked and stepped out from behind the door. Kyoko and Kaori screamed even louder, but the mother, Hana, stayed completely still, hand hovering over the bloodstains in her husband's shirt, as though she could bring him back to life. Wouldn't it be pretty, wouldn't it be nice, to see this whole family erased, as though they'd never existed?_

_Reaching out, he grabbed her by her neck and started to strangle her, using only one hand. He smiled at her, a picture of demonic innocence, as he shot her two children, shot them both between the eyes. She was clawing at his hand, trying to escape, but her efforts were in vain. Soon enough, she died, her last memories of watching her entire family shot to death before her very eyes._

_Smirking, he knew what this needed. A final touch, things to make it his. He lifted Akira Kasai into his chair at the head of the table, and placed the rest of the family members there, as though they were going to be having dinner soon. Pulling a deck of miniature playing cards out of his pocket (Ulquiorra had always had a strange fascination with those for some unfathomable reason), he smashed the picture of the happy family displayed in the cabinet by the window in the dining room. Using a large shard of broken glass, he gouged out Akira's eyes, shuffled through the deck until he found a 4 and a 6, replaced the man's eyes with the two cards, and placed his eyeballs innocently on the plate, as though they had just popped out and it had happened that there was a 4 and a 6 where the sockets should have been._

_Waltzing through the house, he smashed every single mirror and every single picture frame with pictures of the family. Ripping the photographs up, he deposited them in the toilet and flushed. Taking the digital camera from the office was easy, and finding the home movies that the family had made was even easier. The car keys were in Akira's pocket, next to his wallet, and, smiling, he whispered in Akira's ear, "Thanks for playing."_

And now, here I am, watching the police searching the house. There will be nothing there, nothing for them to find. I deleted the pictures on their digital camera, sold it, and, well, as for the movies, I've mailed them to a certain someone. I hope he'll watch them, hope he'll see what could have been for us. And he won't even tell. Such a nice guy.

This is only the beginning. Next stop: The morgue. At midnight. Don't be late.

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	3. The Morgue

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Morgues smell like lemon floor polisher and Windex. The white tiled floor reflects on the plain white walls. My footsteps hardly make a sound in this building. The morgue here closes at 10 o'clock, because, well, no one really expects someone needing to go to the morgue after that hour. Yeah, they make exceptions for murders and that sort of stuff, but nobody really expects someone to be walking around in a morgue after hours. You know, whole phobia about being surrounded by dead bodies.

Who knew that the padlock on the morgue's side entrance would be so easy to pick?

It wasn't really thrilling, doing it, entering. I'd expected more of a challenge, maybe voice-activated sensors or face scanners or something of the like. But no. I guess these people just don't realize what I am. I guess they've never really comprehended that maybe, one day, someone like me would show up at their local morgue and defile people even further. Because, of course, they're already dead. There's nothing left to take.

Nothing left, maybe, not in terms of life. But in terms of dignity, there's a lot that I've left to take.

After I killed the Kasais, there was something I realized: I hadn't been as careful as I should have been. My hair, it wasn't the color it was supposed to be, and damn, I think I forgot which hand I was supposed to use. Oh well. Too late for that now. There's always the next one.

It's nothing short of beautiful in the morgue. Dead bodies, covered with pure white sheets, all lined up in a row on gurneys. It's always a game of guess and see, but I'm willing to waste a few hours here. Dead bodies don't affect me in any way whatsoever.

I'm walking up and down the row of bodies now. There are only 10. The 10 that are mine. It shouldn't be too hard to find them. There! Two small bodies in a row, two larger bodies beside them. None of the other families had children. Only the Kasais.

The sheets billow, like a silken cloud, as I lift up the sheets, displaying their faces. This is amazing. I never thought it would be so easy.

_What would be the worst thing possible, what would be the worst thing a person could do to someone else?_

The answer comes to me in an instant. Of course.

_Wouldn't it be nice, wouldn't it be pretty, to see Kyoko's darling little face cut up with the porcelain doll she got two Christmases ago? Wouldn't it be nice, Kaori, to watch as your skin rips under my hands? Mrs. Kasai, you might have loved your husband more. That mirror he gave you for your fifth anniversary, it's very pretty. Would you like to feel part of it inside you, under your skin? And you, Mr. Kasai, all that wine you have stored in your cellar, why do you have it? Aren't you supposed to be a family guy? Oh well. You'd sure look handsome with green glass embedded in your skin, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you enjoy it, to feel the shards of the bottle of Chardonnay that you drank just two days ago? I know you'd like it. Right over your heart. Yes. That's where I'll put it. _

And the policemen are trying to wonder why they can't rebuild the mirrors, the picture frames, why they can't place back the pieces. They can't, because I have some. And I'm not intent on giving them back that easily.

There's no blood. I've never expected there to be. But the feeling, it's the feeling that really matters, the feeling of being dominant, of being in control. First Kaori, then Kyoko. I waste no time on Hana Kasai. She wasn't important. But it's Akira Kasai, Akira that really matters. The playing cards stare up at me, as though questioning what I'm doing.

"You'll be having a chicken dinner tonight when I'm finished here," I whisper, even as the jagged green glass rips through his skin, carving a sloppy heart over the left side of his chest. I've never been one for art, so I don't bother with all the fancy details. Two small squares in the center of the heart, one inscribed with a four, the other with a six. Nothing more than that.

"Here you go. Play it as a one. Don't go over. 'Winner, winner, chicken dinner.'" I chuckle under my breath, stuffing the ace of spades in his mouth before I depart. I draw the sheets up over them: Wouldn't want to give the coroners any nasty surprises, now would we?

Oh, dear, almost forgot. Pulling the sheets away from Akira Kasai again, I lightly deposit a single, fine hair on the edge of the heart on his chest, as though it had dropped there carelessly. Smiling, I whisper, "You're not Ulquiorra, but you sure are a looker."

And I leave.

Now I'm back at home, reading his latest novel. Ulquiorra's, I mean. He's become quite the successful novelist. But, of course, he's still lacking in the subtlety department. I don't think he'll know tomorrow when the news comes out about the Kasais for the second time, I don't think he even comprehended it the first time. And maybe he'll never get it. Maybe he won't. He was never on the smart side of things coming to the real world.

All I'll say for now is this:

Ulquiorra is one hell of a good writer. I've started from his third book, the first successful one, up to his last one, his fifth one. I'm giving him the dream of a lifetime. When we were together, sometimes he'd whisper against my shoulder at night, _"What if the books came true, Grimm? What if they came true? Wouldn't that be something?" _

Ulquiorra is a damn good murder writer. I'll need to thank him someday.


	4. Public Weddings

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I guess you'd call Ulquiorra the Japanese version of John Grisham. Except he doesn't go around writing stories like _Skipping Christmas _and other pansy shit like that. I think somewhere deep down, Ulquiorra's a murderer at heart, but his body isn't capable of actually doing it. I think that was what kept us both going in our relationship. I had the body, he had the brains. That was all it really was at the end.

The press has discovered the Kasais. At last. Seriously, I did that like, what, a night ago? At least 12 hours ago. At least. And just now they're realizing that something else have been done. Okay, I get the fact that the morgue closes at 10 and opens at 10, a full 12 hours, but still. What are you people doing for the first few hours of your job, mopping the floors with lemon floor polish or taking coffee breaks?

At any rate, I'm watching the news right now. They describe me as a monster, as a complete and utter monster. And get this, they think that the person who is doing the postmortem defiling at the morgue is probably a copycat killer. Hello? I would think that I'm the only one in this whole goddamn country who actually has enough guts to do that kind of thing. Ulquiorra wrote about it, but I'm the one who's actually carrying it out.

Here, let me show you the news articles:

_"This morning at 11:04 AM, two workers at the local morgue discovered the bodies of the Kasai family defiled even further than they had been the night before. It appears as though the Kasais' corpses were slashed with some sort of glass, and traces of glass from a Chardonnay wine bottle have been found in Akira Kasai's body. Anyone who has any knowledge about the killer or about his whereabouts is encouraged to come forth and tell local officials straightaway. This man is a monster and needs to be stopped right away."_

_"The person who is doing this is a savage beast who has no self control of himself whatsoever. Also, it appears he has a sort of fetish for playing Blackjack and likes to defile his victims with memoirs of their own lives. It also seems as if he is targeting families with 4 or 6 members. If this description fits you, please, put extra precautions around your home. You never know if you could be next."_

But the one that really interests me the most is the news article that interviews Ulquiorra. Ever since people have started realizing his writing talent and have discovered that he can really put himself in someone else's shoes, the police department has been all over him. But, of course, he doesn't mention me, or the vaguest part of me. Faithful to the very end.

_"The killer in question is most likely a man, or, if not, a very violent woman. There is no doubt in my mind that there is only one killer committing these acts, although many others think otherwise. Considering the evidence, it would seem as though this person is going through a very emotional or depressing time in their lives right now, maybe because of a break-up with a lover..."_

He's still cocky. That's good to hear.

_"...and it would appear that this person, if it is a man, is most likely gay. Umm...other than that, the only other really significant thing that I think everyone has overlooked is the fact that he's smashed all the mirrors and picture frames. This shows that he probably considers himself to be a monster in his mind, and that he despises other people's happiness. Really, there is not much more than that to say. The killings are violent, brutal, even close to the point where I would suggest that this person has psychosis, but, all in all, there's not much else to say."_

Right now, I'm sitting in an Internet cafe, with the news blaring at me on the plasma TVs set up on the wall and the headlines shooting themselves at me through the computer's homepage. You'll probably ask why I'm in an Internet cafe. Why, what else would I be doing in an Internet cafe other than to send a threat to someone?

After seeing the articles about how they suspect that the numbers 4 and 6 have some significance, I've decided to switch it up a little bit. In Karakura, there's a lot of public weddings, seeing as how people don't really want to invite distant relatives from some far away part of Mongolia to come to their weddings and they want to fill the churches, even if it's with people they don't know. Anyway. There's a wedding this weekend, four days from now, to marry Miss Aimi Yoshida and Mr. Hiroto Suzuki.

And guess who's gonna be there?

I guess, of course, that their parents won't be there, anyway. Why? Because, apparently, in the local news where all the public weddings get announced, I guess that Aimi is pregnant. With Hiroto's child. And she's about...oh, maybe 6, 7 months along. So, of course, Japanese honor code. I can understand why the parents wouldn't want to be seen there.

But, I guess, if you're me, you're definitely going to be there. Simply because, well, Murphy's law. Basically, if there's anything wrong that can happen, it will happen. And what's the worst thing that could happen to a happy couple on their wedding day?

That's right. Getting murdered in their hotel room on their "honeymoon". Of course, those words, getting murdered on their honeymoon, they sound really dull. But I guess that's because I'm saying this and not actually doing it.

Ulquiorra wrote this one too. Of course, it's not exactly according to script: The bride in the story, Kiku, was never pregnant. But oh well. I'm not exactly Pro-Life, and he isn't either. So, I'm happy. He should be too. And, Ulquiorra, if you're reading this right now, thanks. Thanks for the ideas. I don't know how I'd ever survive without you.


	5. The Suzukis

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It's over. I know, you're probably thinking, Already? But yeah. Well, as you know, I certainly couldn't have written my story while I was at a wedding, now could I? That wouldn't have been very polite.

Well, alright. That's not being perfectly honest. To tell you the truth, what I really mean is that the wedding is over. I'm at the reception now. God knows not that many people stay at the reception if it's a public wedding. I'm one of 30 or so guests here at the reception. I guess Mr. and Mrs. Suzuki weren't expecting even that many people, because I know they sure as heck don't have many waiters running around with trays filled with little chicken hors d'oeuvres.

At any rate, I'm just killing time right now. Because, as you and me both know, the real fun doesn't start until after they depart to their hotel room.

I'm dressed in a tuxedo, and I've removed the mask for right now. I've dyed my hair brown so that I don't stand out too much, because, obviously, I would hope that somebody would at least suspect that someone with blue hair could have been behind all the killings. But, you know, people here aren't that bright.

Hmm...other than that, there is nothing much to say right now. I shall get back to you soon.

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i'm home now. You're probably asking yourself why I didn't write earlier. The only real reason I didn't write earlier is because if I had, the pages would have been bloodstained and stuff. And I can understand if you don't want to read bloodstained pages or whatnot. Because that's just wrong.

Anyway, the police who were investigating the Kasai murder sure as heck shouldn't be qualified to be police. I can't believe they didn't find that hair sample I left on Akira Kasai's body. Now, I personally don't know about you, but I wouldn't want them protecting me in an emergency.

Anyway, here's my memoirs to the Suzuki family. May they rest in peace. NOT.

_Getting past the hotel staff was freakishly easy. But I guess that's what happens at the Hyatt. The staff is all respectful and cheery and whatnot, and couldn't tell a killer apart from a grandma to save their lives. They didn't hear the gunshot as I killed one of their bellboys on the fifth floor, and I didn't even use a silencer. Admittedly, there was no one else on that floor, but still. It's like they're making this too easy._

_I went downstairs again, and no one noticed the bloodstains on my new outfit. I went to the ice storage room and got a bottle of champagne and put it in a bucket. Using the service elevator, I went up to the 25th floor and went to room 2532. The Suzukis' room. I knocked on the door, and someone, a man, shouted breathlessly, "What is it?"_

_"It's room service," I call through the thick mahogany door. "The Hyatt staff wanted to deliver a bottle of champagne to Mr. and Mrs. Suzuki, as congratulations to their newfound happiness."_

_They're stupid. That's all I really have to say. But Hiroto answered the door, and I suppose he was in the middle of a very inappropriate activity, because he was all flushed and red and whatnot and wearing only a towel draped around his waist. Smiling cheerfully, I handed the bucket of champagne and ice to him, hear him grunt a muffled phrase of appreciation, and then pull out my other gun, this one with a silencer, and shoot him once, twice, in the back. People shouldn't assume that the room service will close their doors after them._

_I catch the body and bucket of ice and champagne before it hits the floor. Now that's what I would call talent. Aimi doesn't suspect a thing, and instead, after she hears the door close, she calls out, "Hiro-channn...where are you?"_

_It's stupid, and I'd like to laugh. Except this isn't exactly a funny situation. _

_Rounding the corner of the room, I see Aimi, 7 months pregnant, covering up with the sheets. She looks at me curiously, and then asks, "Who are you?"_

_Grinning at her in a very sadistic way, I whisper, "I'm nobody. Nobody to you." _

_She doesn't realize what's happening, but before she can even comprehend what I am about to do to her, she's tied to the bed using the sheets. Exposed now, and she's still confused. Stupid stupid stupid._

_Leaving her on the bed, I walk into the bathroom and smash the mirror. It kind of surprises me that there's only one mirror in this hotel room, but I guess the Hyatt has never been one for expenses. Taking a few shards in my bare hand (it doesn't matter if I bleed or not, that bastard has the same blood type as me and they won't notice), I walk back to where Aimi is, sit on the edge of the bed, and just smile at her. And then she gets it. She finally gets it._

_And now she's screaming. But what's the point? The Hyatt has thick walls, there will be nobody to hear. And "Hiro-chan" over there sure isn't going to hear anything. _

_It's pretty much a painless death. I mean, what's the point of dragging it out? Ulquiorra's book never did, at any rate. Plunging the shards in random places all over her body, thighs, stomach, heart, forehead, she's dead without so much as a single tear. But the look of fear is forever frozen on her face, and I like that. But this isn't about her. _

_I dragged Hiroto back onto the bed and untied Aimi. As before with the Kasais, I gouged Hiroto's eyes out and replaced them with a four and a six. Tilting my head, I looked down at the bodies, and then arranged their arms, placing the ten of diamonds in between their clasped hands, so that it would not be too obvious at first. A perfectly happy couple._

_Then, just for show, I took the shard of mirror out of Aimi's stomach, and carved the word SLUT over her chest. That ought to do it._

At that point, I left the hotel, and nobody bothered to stop me. Nobody had heard the screams, and room service wouldn't check on them until tomorrow at the very least. That gave me almost 12 hours to make my escape out of town. Not like I'd be going out of town. The ones that are suspected are the ones that always leave on a "business trip" right after a murder. I don't intend to be one of those selected few.

And Ulquiorra, if you're reading this right now, why in the hell are you still with him? You sure as heck aren't making things better.


	6. Dinner with Ulquiorra

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I guess I have to agree with the statement that life isn't fair. And Ulquiorra's new "lover" sure as heck is underlining the N in NOT FAIR. So anyway, here I am, inviting Ulquiorra to a nice civil lunch at my place, and then that bastard just goes and says over the phone, where he knows I can hear, "Oh, Ulquiorra, be a dear and let's go out for lunch today...I just got home."

Well, that was true. He did just get home. But you know, there's this moral code where you're not supposed to steal a date away from someone. Hmm...speaking of dates, I wonder if he's heard about the news yet.

No, no, he probably hasn't. Szayel's never been one to watch the news; he'd much rather be doing some sadistic shit that he calls "scientific" on his lab subjects. Or he'd like to be stealing Ulquiorra away from me. Neither of which I particularly enjoy.

At any rate, in the privacy of some other place in Ulquiorra's apartment, I asked him if he'd like to come to dinner instead. Being Ulquiorra-ish, he said yes, he would. Gee, you wouldn't think I'm a heartless killer if you knew that my heart raced when he said yes. You wouldn't think I liked to kill people. You'd think I was just some other gay fruit from San Francisco. Which I'm not, by the way.

So, dinner with Ulquiorra. Damn. I've got to buy some food.

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Anyway, time really flies when you're with someone you like. Ulquiorra's been here for a while now, we just finished dinner, the dishes are in the dishwasher already, and we're sitting on the couch with some white wine. You know, like how it was before he decided to leave.

I know the question's coming, but I want to prolong this moment. Kind of like a Kodak moment, except there's no camera and I'm not sure Ulquiorra would appreciate having his picture taken.

And here it comes...

"Why do you still do it?"

Now, I'm not going to lie to someone that I still like. Love. But what really can I say in this conversation that doesn't make me look like some psychotic lover?

"There is no reason."

That's a lie, and he knows it.

"No, Grimmjow, there is a reason for why you're doing this. You have to open up and you have to tell me so that we can figure out how to stop it."  
"Maybe I don't want to stop, Ulquiorra. Have you thought of that?"  
"Grimmjow, goddamnit, now you're just flat out lying. I'm not stupid, okay? You left blood there at the hotel, you left HAIR in the morgue...you're leaving evidence here, and it's CLEAR that you want to stop! You're just not admitting it!"

"How do you know I left blood?"  
"Look at your hands!"

He's right. They're still cut up from the mirror. Alright. Got me there. But moving on...

"Please." His voice is softer now, and it makes me want to reach out and hold him, like we used to do. "I want to help you, but you're not helping me help you."

"Hey...do you remember those books you wrote? Well, I mean, I know you still write, but the books you wrote before. You know, when we were still together?"  
"What about them..."  
"You don't get it? YOU don't get it?"  
"What is there to get, Grimmjow?" He's exasperated now, and I'm still coming to grips.

There's a moment of silence, and in that moment, I think that things changed between us for what seems like the hundredth time. I'm not sure that I want to broach the subject again, but knowing him, he'll bring it back up when I don't respond for a while. He's like that. Persistent.

I change the subject now. Instead of reminding him about his dream, I say,

"What do you think I am?"

"Hmm?" He's confused now.

"When you did that interview, you called me a monster."  
"No, correction, I called you a monster in your own mind. I never called YOU from my point of view a monster, specifically."  
"Were you implying it?"  
"...No, Grimmjow, I wasn't implying anything. I...don't think that you're a monster, even if you are brutal and violent and all that other shit. I don't care about that. I mean, all that really matters...to me, at least, is that you still love me. It's...hard to explain how I know this, but I know you do, and these killings are probably your way of trying to get me back. It's NOT working, Grimmjow. You can't keep doing this. It's not right."

"If it's not right, Ulquiorra, why haven't you turned me in yet?"

He swallows. I can tell he's trying to think of something logical to say to this. Quietly I reach out and cover his hand with mine, squeezing lightly.

"I don't want a logical response, Ora-kun. I want you to tell me how you feel and don't worry about what you think it'll make me feel. Just say whatever you want."

A pause now. Then, chewing on his bottom lip lightly, he starts:

"I...I know you have a lot more self control than you're letting on in the murders, Grimm. I know you do. You've shown me that. I...I don't know what I'm trying to prove, really, but I...I want to see you stop this. I want to see you stop this of your own accord. I don't like having to see the headlines every morning and know that you're still doing it. I WANT you to stop this. By yourself."

"Would it make you come back to me? Would it make you break up with that Szayel jerk?"

He sighs, and turns away a little bit, and I can tell he's trying to hold back tears. He's been emotional for a while now. I don't exactly know why.

"No, Grimmjow. It wouldn't help you or me if I went back to you instead of staying with Szayel. It would, in fact -"  
"How would it not help? Szayel DOESN'T love you, Ulquiorra. He never HAS."  
"You don't have proof of that!"  
"Honey, you remember that place where I work part time as a bartender?"

He nods quietly, and I want to tell him that I'm sorry. But, you know, I can't really do that right now.

"Well, your 'lover' wanders in a week or so ago, with some redhead girl who promptly went off to go gawk at male dancers, then he walks up to the bar, and after about four or five shots gives this blondy the look, and then both go upstairs and I didn't see them come down."

He's crying now, silently, and I squeeze his hand a bit harder. I know he doesn't want to believe me, but it's true.

And then, through the sobs, he actually manages a question. And Jesus Lord, I can't help but admire his fixedness. He's back on the subject of my killings. And still crying.

"Szayel doesn't have anything to do with this, Grimmjow. He's irrelevant right now. Just...just...why won't you STOP?"

Looking at him, I murmur softly, "Do you remember the dream? You know, the ones about the books coming true?"

He mulls this over for a few moments, and then frantically wipes off his cheeks with the back of his hand and stares at me now. It appears he's over his crying fit, but still, there's something not quite right here.

"Is...is there something wrong?"  
"Grimm, do you...have you read the last book in the Legacy yet?"  
"No, honey, I didn't have time."

He bites his lip, and the next words he says shock me.

"Grimmjow...if you keep following the pattern of the books, then...then you'll end up killing first Szayel, then me, and finally...yourself."


	7. The Legacy's Ending

**As of right now, this story is now running on a 1:3 chapter to review ratio. That's good, but I want more!**

**Yep, the greedy little review pig. That's me, all right.**

**The greedy little review pig that just happens to be getting calls from hot guys! TEE HEE. **

* * *

It's true. If anything, I don't want to follow the pattern of the books if that's the case. I mean, it's not like I'll mind killing Szayel, God knows that that man has done enough twisted experiments to last a small country for a lifetime, but...I don't think I could kill Ulquiorra. I wouldn't care if I killed myself, but I couldn't handle that. Anyone but Ulquiorra. I just love the guy too damn much.

At any rate, he went home this morning. Yes, that's right, this morning. He actually spent the night, and it was just like old times. (If I cared to comment on what old times meant, then this wouldn't exactly be a rated T story, now would it?) Only the dear Lord knows where Szayel was. Probably in some random bar on the other side of this godforsaken town, making out with some random redhead pole dancer who's probably not even straight. That's probably where Szayel was last night.

Ulquiorra's still in denial, though. I mean, the guy's practically heartbroken and yet he's trailing back to the mad scientist like a lost little puppy. Of course, when it comes down to choosing between a mad scientist and a serial killer, you'd probably choose the mad scientist too. God knows I would.

Anyway, here I am, at home, and I'm currently reading the last book in the Legacy series that Ulquiorra's written. These books aren't just your average murder books either. I mean, you can like see it. You can see the bodies, and you can actually see yourself doing it. Of course, maybe that's just me. Because I'm like that.

The police department are still trying to find me. Of course, I know they won't. If anything, I'm one of the sanest people in the city. And, if Ulquiorra's judgment is anything to go by, I'm far from psychotic and violent. But then again, that was with him. I've never been violent around him. Okay, okay. So that one time where I threw a wine glass at his head wasn't exactly gentle. I was DRUNK, okay? AND I apologized for it the day after.

Now I'm not one to laugh much, but considering what's on the news right now, you HAVE to laugh. If you're anything like me, at least.

_"The police department are still extremely puzzled as to what is going on. There seems to be two separate killers operating now, but the killing method is still just as violent and brutal."_

_"These monster(s) need to be stopped as soon as possible, in order to restore peace to this town."_

And then, on the screen, it's Ulquiorra again. Of course, this was filmed shortly after the murders took place (well, 12 or 13 hours at any rate), so it was filmed long before he came over. His response makes me want to laugh.

_"No, this isn't normal for a serial killer. Normally, serial killers want to have that feeling, that touch and the knowledge that they're doing something with their own hands. Umm...a gun is rather impersonal, and serial killers don't usually use guns because it doesn't give them the 'high' that they would normally experience as opposed to using a knife or, in this case, a broken mirror. While this man...or violent woman, did cut up the wife, he also shot the husband. Twice. In fatal areas, so that he would die faster. It's almost as though he was trying to make sure that Hiroto had a peaceful death._

_"This is not at all regular for a serial killer. Also, there is no doubt that there is only one killer, in my mind, at any rate. While the victims are different, the brutality and violence of these killings rank on the same scale. Hmmm...to answer your question about who I think who did it, I would think that this person is indeed a man. I also think that he was at the wedding, or that he is a very keen person and not to be taken lightly. Errr...the only other thing that I think is relevant is that this man has a very good taste with champagne and...if I do say so, from the standpoint of a murder novelist, these killings are very artful."_

Artful. Ulquiorra called me artful.

But the thing that really intrigues me about his interview, is that, right after he says, "artful," he breaks into a coughing fit and can't stop and someone has to usher him off stage. I...I really don't know what that's all about. Maybe he was sick? He didn't seem sick when he came over...I bet I know what it was. Szayel must have given him mono or something. I don't know. Some form of disease. God knows that man is crawling with STD's.

At any rate, the police department are trying to find the guest list of people on the wedding. Of course, they won't be able to find the guest list, because there WAS no guest list. Well, okay, so Aimi and Hiroto had a list of people that they wanted to show at the wedding. Guess who that list included?

That's right. Szayel. The mad scientist. I guess that he helped them with a kidney transplant or something a while back?

He's the only one that was out of town, too, so that makes him more suspicious than he already was. I mean, who WOULDN'T suspect a mad scientist of committing crimes? And after that whole twirling the scissors around and causing accidental damage to his patient while he was giving someone implants, I don't think he ranks very highly in the cops' good graces at this point in his life.

So he'd better watch out. If he doesn't, next thing he knows, he'll be clapped behind bars and sentenced to a death in the gas chamber.

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Well, Ulquiorra's started to take a turn of tragedy now. The ending of the Legacy books was very, very sad. Basically, it ends with the husband killing his ex-wife's fiancee by drowning him in his own bathtub, kills his wife by torturing her to death, and then shoots himself in the head. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah. Somehow, I don't see this happening. It's the only scene in all of Ulquiorra's books that I can't see myself doing someday.

Well, alright. I can see myself killing Szayel, easy enough. Probably not in his bathtub, but somewhere else involving water...like the hospital's sinks or toilets or something. I can see myself committing suicide. That would be easy, and painless, enough. But I cannot see myself torturing Ulquiorra to death. I just cannot see that. Nor do I want to.

And, I guess, the only reason that I keep doing this is probably to get Ulquiorra back. Heck, I'd kill all the people in China if it would make him come back to me. And I know he wants to. The only thing that's stopping that is godfucking Szayel. I need to find a way to get rid of him...

Then the world would be happy and good again.

Only...even then, I do not know if I would be able to stop killing. Once you start, it's like a drug, you know? You get high off one killing, and then you have to keep doing it to make yourself feel good. Ulquiorra's leaving fueled this killing spree, and now...Now I'm not sure if his coming back will stop it.


	8. On the Suspect List

**As of right now, this story is now running on a 1:3 chapter to review ratio. That's good, but I want more!**

**Yep, the greedy little review pig. That's me, all right.**

**The greedy little review pig that just happens to be getting calls from hot guys! TEE HEE. **

* * *

Well, the police department has finally caught on to my pattern of killing. Someone finally thought, "Hey, they're reviewing Ulquiorra, the murder novelist, maybe his insights are - HOLY SHIT! THE KILLER'S DOING THINGS FROM ULQUIORRA'S BOOKS!"

And then, of course, Ulquiorra's immediately a suspect. Needless to say, they're not going to be interviewing him anymore and his house is now on police alert. I mean, I don't WANT Ulquiorra to be a suspect, but I do WANT Szayel to be a suspect so that he can get his ass kicked in jail (for murders and for sadisctic experiments that I KNOW for a fact are not legal), so I guess Ulquiorra is going to have to deal with cops patrolling around his neighborhood for just a little while. Then, when Szayel gets arrested, he can sell the house (houses that belonged to serial killers are really popular in this town for some reason) and then move back in with me! Everyone wins!

As of right now, there are a whole bunch of people who are on the suspect list. Including me. Yes. It actually gives me a high to know that they suspect me, to know that they think it could be me, but the high is kind of deadened by knowing that at least 500 other people are also suspected. Members from the police department were dispatched with search warrants to inspect everybody's home for weapons and Ulquiorra's books. No weapons here, nuh-uh. I'm borrowing Szayel's guns for that kind of duty. I mean, the Firestar's mine, sure, but that's hidden. Hidden in another place that is not here. So, no evidence against me, other than the fact that I own Ulquiorra's books.

And it would have been so easy, it would have been so easy just to strangle the police officer that came into my house. But I didn't, for two reasons:

1. They would have found out eventually, whenever the police dispatch officers to a section of the town, they always leave notices where they're going.

2. This one was actually kind of cute. Young-looking, as though he'd just started the job, and kind of innocent, too. That stopped me from just putting my hand around his neck and strangling him to death. See, Ulquiorra? I do have self-control. Sometimes, at any rate.

But I have never, ever done what Szayel has done to Ulquiorra. I hope he knows that. Well, damn, he'd better know that. We'd been together for about a year and a half before he decided to leave me for Szayel. Well, okay, he didn't exactly leave me for Szayel, he left because of what I was doing, and he thought he could stop it by leaving. Which, by the way, he didn't.

I've never hit Ulquiorra, like a slap or anything (and the time with the wine glass does not count, I was drunk and apologized for it afterwards, and anyway, it didn't hit him). I've also never given him a scar where he was in actual pain at the time. A few nights ago, when he came over for dinner, I saw them, the scars that that asshole gave my beauty. Scars that won't heal, ever, and some still fresh and brand new, but many were pale and white with passing age. It SUCKS, basically, to see the person you love the most come over to your house, and then see the scars that another person left on them. Scars on a person that should have been yours forever. You know, you just can't help but get angry at that kind of thing.

Furthermore, I've never cheated on Ulquiorra. And God only knows how many people Szayel's had a one-night stand with, or even a long-standing affair. I don't know how Ulquiorra stands it, and that's probably why his health is deteriorating. See, if he just moved back in with me, then he'd get all well again and everything would be perfectly fine. Of course, Szayel'd be out of our lives forever...whether dead or behind bars, I don't know, just one of the two. Preferably dead. I don't want to have to wake up in the middle of the night to get a call from the mad scientist in jail using his one phone call.

Yeeeah. Somehow, that just doesn't appeal to me.

At any rate, I really don't know what's wrong with Ulquiorra at this point in time. I'd like to find out, but knowing him, he won't tell me until it's too late for me to do anything about it.

As of right now, I'm getting antsy. I haven't killed anybody in a while. Well, if anything's convenient, there's a news ad about how they want someone to offer help at the nursing home. I am SO there. I just LOVE the elderly, what with prune juice and everything...Okay, maybe not the prune juice and the bedpans, but still. The elderly are so easy to confuse, so easy to fool, especially the ones with Alzheimer's, who can't remember what their name is every three seconds and you have to keep reminding them.

It'll be easy, at any rate. But before I go there, I'd better make sure to stop by Ulquiorra's house to pick up some of that cyanide I know Szayel's been storing in the basement. Ulquiorra doesn't know, or if he does, he's turning a blind eye to it, just as he turns a blind eye to my killings. And the best part is, Szayel's out of town again. Doing what? I have absolutely no clue. Making love to some Russian girl off in Siberia? Probably. But the cops don't know that, now do they??

Oh yeah. And off to the store too, so that I can get my hair dyed pink before I leave to do my duty with the elderly. You know, we'd want to make me look convincing, now wouldn't we?


	9. Dear Old Dad

**As of right now, this story is now running on a 1:3 chapter to review ratio. That's good, but I want more!**

**Yep, the greedy little review pig. That's me, all right.**

**The greedy little review pig that just happens to be getting calls from hot guys! TEE HEE. **

* * *

Ugh. I have no idea how Szayel can stand walking around with PINK hair. Doesn't it just embarrass the shit out of him? Well, of course, I'm sure that he just doesn't care. His hair is probably a by-product of one of his experiments gone sadly wrong. I mean, nobody just goes around with PINK hair. I can understand BLUE hair, because BLUE is actually a manly color when you think about it, but pink...pink is just not right for a man to have on his head. Or on any other part of his body, for that matter. And, I mean, I'm not gonna go pull down his pants because I'm convinced that his hair is a dye job. Seriously.

At any rate, I'm embarrassed as hell. You don't go around the block with PINK hair on a SATURDAY. I mean, really! This is really bad for my image! Not that I have an image...Well, an image that I'm sure only Ulquiorra knows about.

So, I'm at the nursing home now, and I'm not quite so embarrassed anymore. I mean, the only thing that could probably embarrass me further if some old gay dude wanted a look down my pants, and then he'd be all, "Whoa, hey, how do you have pink hair and blue hair at the same time? Are you...like, Superman or something?"

Now, please, I'm all for guys looking down my pants. As long as they're cute, hot, or sexy, and not an all around bitch when it comes to the morning after. Old gay dudes in nursing homes? Not so much. And I'm not inclined to answer the question of pink and blue hair at the moment.

Well, there's cyanide in my coat pocket. For all those who do not know what cyanide is, you'll be finding out later in this chapter, so just sit tight.

I've been assigned to the Alzheimer's ward. This is lovely. I mean, I know I'm not a very patient person, but if you stick me in a ward with Alzheimer's-affected people, I'm bound to go crazy. Heck, anyone would, with someone in their ear asking them what the square root of one was every three seconds because they're attempting to solve a Sudoku. Nobody really needs to know what the square root of one is anyway, to solve Sudoku. I mean, yes, I'm all for the elderly, I'm proud that they've lived their lives so long without anybody killing them off, but SERIOUSLY people! The Alzheimer's ward? Jesus, I'd rather have the ward full of mental people!

Anyway, there's nothing really interesting going on right now, except for handing the elderly people their prune juice and bedpans every now and then, so I'll write back when there's something really good going on. Something that involves me and a date with Mr. Cyanide.

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It's that time again. That time where someone's about to get killed. Don't lie to me; I know you like it.

At any rate, all the other attendants are somewhere else in the nursing home, probably trying to get free Lays out of the vending machine, and I'm the only one watching over 10 other elderly people, 9 of whom are asleep. The only one that's awake is someone that I didn't anticipate would be in this nursing home. But it's convenient for me that he's Szayel's father.

Szayel never had a good relationship with his old man, or so I've heard. I guess that he got busted for doing cocaine back in his youth, and he's hated his father ever since then. Of course, he still had to live with his dad, being that his mother had been some cheap hooker and ran away two years after Szayel was born, so I guess that gave the bad feelings quite a while to culminate. And the best part is, everyone knows it. Well, really, people who are famous or infamous in this place have, like, their own personal wing of the library. So it's no wonder that everybody knows that our very own dear mad scientist hates his dad's guts and can't wait for the old man to die so that he can get inheritance.

So, all in all, I suppose it's worth it that I went to get my hair dyed pink before I came to the nursing home. I mean, I highly doubt that Szayel's father would still accept me to be Szayel if my hair was still blue. I guess that Szayel's has multiple sets of colored contacts, so his dad won't be too shocked that I have blue eyes. I mean, when you've got a crazy mad scientist for a son, I guess you gotta learn to just go with the flow of things. Especially if you're locked up in a nursing home awaiting your deathday. Which, of course, happens to be today. Or, rather, tonight.

Szayel's dad's sitting, propped up on his bed, watching the liquid inside his IV bag drip into his veins. Supposedly he's on the brink of death, so I'll be doing him a FAVOR by killing him off before he has to suffer for too much longer.

Now. Even though the police department here are actually extremely stupid, stupider than they let the civilians here let on, I have to admit, they're extremely technologically savvy. They have these things, ReScoops, which are basically tools that they can use to replay the images that the person has seen in the last 24 hours. If I'm lucky, and if they're smart enough, they'll use a ReScooper on Szayel's dad, and see that the last image he saw, or one of the last, was of his son. Well, not exactly of his son, but of me dressing up as his son.

He's looking at me now, and apparently the disguise is working, because he tells me, "Son, come sit here by your aging father. It's not often that you come and see me here."

And then the old fool goes off into a long rant about Szayel's mother and about how she was a cheap whore and that Szayel should never have deserved the kind of upbringing that he had. Yeeeah. I mean, it's all great that the old man can relive some of his memories before he dies, but still. Nobody wants to hear about Szayel and his forays into the land of Gayness. Really.

Taking the syringe of cyanide out from my coat pocket, I watch as his eyes follow the needle.

"What is that, Szayel? Some disgusting concoction that you want me to drink?"

Smiling sweetly at him, I say, "No. I'll be doing you a favor. DAD."

Then I inject the syringe full of cyanide gas into the IV bag. And I watch, as his face goes from pale to 'pumped'. It's beautiful, how he starts to lose breath, starts to choke on his own saliva, how the veins stick out all over his body. But, eventually, it all culminates in a cardiac arrest, a heart attack that would, no, WILL be fatal for him. So, standing up now, I take leave, and let him live the last few moments of his agonizing death out in peace.

Hmm. Wonder what Szayel's gonna think when he's back from screwing some Russian ladies in Siberia?


	10. Stay With Me

**Roar. REVIEW, OR I WILL EAT YOUR EYES OUT!**

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Yep. Just as I predicted, Szayel is now in custody. Jesus, it's about time those damn police decided to use the advanced technology that is at their hands. I mean, seriously, God didn't create the Internet just for silly little math whizzes to look up all the numbers of pi. The Internet is for porn. No joke. For every one normal website out there, like this one, there are five porn websites. Pretty sad isn't it?

However, Ulquiorra is now in the hospital. Yes, the hospital. I don't exactly know why, and I don't exactly know how he got there in the first place, but I'll be visiting him some time later today.

Meanwhile, I'm here at my house, peaceful and calm and writing this journal entry. So, at any rate, since there's nothing really interesting going on right now, I guess I'll just write you again when I'm at the hospital, shall I?

Because all you fangirls over there in America and Scotland and God knows what other place just want the lovey dovey scene, so in order to get reviews, I suppose I'll just skip ahead to that.

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Anyway, here I am in the hospital. Sure, it took a little convincing to get the nurse to let me see Ulquiorra, but I suppose that Szayel and Ulquiorra's relationship never went public so it's perfectly fine to pass myself off as a lover. I mean, it's not even as if I'm lying. We would still be, if he hadn't left. Alright, if I hadn't started this.

Now the doctor's letting me in, telling me to be careful, because Ulquiorra's apparently in a fragile condition...

"Hi, sweetheart." Damn. I never knew how uncomfortable those metal folding chairs were. Seriously.  
"Grimmjow." His voice is weak, and it hurts me to hear it.

"So. May I ask you why you're in here?"

A sigh then. And emerald eyes averting to look out the window instead of at me.

"Aww, is Ora-kun in here because he got a wittle fever??"

Still no response. And seriously, I'm not exactly the most patient person in the world.

"Oh, for God's sake, Ulquiorra, would you just tell me what the hell is going on?"

And finally, finally, he's opening up to me and telling me.

"Well, Grimmjow, it's rather hard to explain."  
"You can tell me anything. You know that."  
Chewing on his bottom lip, he responds, "Hmm...well, I'm sick, as you've probably already guessed."

"No shit, Sherlock. I'm not that stupid. No, really, why are you in here?"  
"I...I've got a family history of tuberculosis. You know, that disease where you cough up blood? Yeah. So now I have it."

"You can't fool me like that. Tuberculosis is chronic, it develops over a period of time. You didn't have it before, why do you have it now?"

And he's crying now. Emotional sob. Well, alright, if I were in a hospital bed trying to explain a medical condition, I might as well just break down then, too.

"It's...it's the abuse, Grimm. You know, from Szayel. It's...too much for me. It awakened this disease in me that I didn't have before. I mean, if you had a family history of tuberculosis and your lover was abusing you every night, it'd awaken the disease in you, too."

"So, basically, this is all Szayel's fault."

"Y...yeah..."

"Didn't I tell you that man was bad for you?"

"Grimmjow, you're a KILLER!" A whispered shout, so that no one else will hear.

"And he ABUSES YOU! What the hell, Ulquiorra, does he, like, get off on that, or something? Because then he's just a terrible sadist, and I can't imagine why you would even be in love with him in the first place! Come, now, baby, he's in jail now, I'm here, maybe we should...you know..."

"We can't, Grimmjow. We really, really can't. This condition has deteriorated my health so much that -"

And he's coughing blood up onto the sheets, and some of the warm red substance is splattered across our connected hands, and I'm scared. Truly and really scared. I've never felt this way before, but...I mean, to know that someone you love is dying? You'd be scared too.

"That what?" I ask after he's done with his coughing fit and the white linen is totally soaked.

"I can't do any of the things that I was able to do before. Sure, I can still write and stuff, but I can't...I can't walk, I can't do anything that involves me actually using energy. This is all I can do, sit here and click channels."

"Will you...live?"

There's a silence, in which the static of the TV in the next room flickers through the thin walls.

"Grimmjow...I...I don't think so."

"WHY?!" It's an angry statement, and loud enough that it drowns out the static.

He seems to shrink into his pillows, and I feel guilty for shouting at him. But I'm desperate, and I need to know WHY.

"Grimmjow," he gestures toward the blood bag at the side of his bed, "I'm not gaining any blood from that. I'm losing it. I can barely eat, and it takes a real effort for me to keep breathing, to stay awake, to be like this, talking with you. I don't feel good. I feel like shit. And...there's nothing I can do about it. So, you know, chances are I'll probably die."

And then the doctor's coming in, claiming that it's time for Ulquiorra's daily check-up, to see how he's doing, and that I need to leave because visiting hours are over. On his clipboard, I can see the little red line on the chart going steadily down, and it hits home then: Ulquiorra really is dying. Hell, today could be his last day, tomorrow, next week. I'm sad, and angry. But not at him, at Szayel, the evil bastard who started all this. If it hadn't been for him, then Ulquiorra wouldn't be like this now. Wouldn't be dying.

As I stand up, I feel him squeeze my hand, faintly.

"Grimmjow. Don't go yet." A whisper, almost, while the doctor is puttering about with his equipment.

"Baby, I have to."

"Tell him that you want to stay the night. Tell him that we're together. Tell him anything, just don't leave." A dying man's last wish.

So, following his orders, I tell the doctor that we're lovers and that I want to stay with him for the night. And, being the homo-friendly doctor that he is, he calls the nurse to get an extra bed in this room so that I can sleep in it. Ulquiorra has his checkup, and the doctor leaves us alone for the night.

That extra bed doesn't exactly look too appealing to me, so I'm curling up next to him in his bed, and he lets me. I don't know, maybe it's because he knows he's going to die soon, maybe it's because he just doesn't care about 'cheating' on Szayel, maybe he still loves me. Maybe a combo of the three.

But for tonight it's just us together, curled up in one hospital bed, with me stroking his soft black hair while he sleeps and wondering what the hell is going to happen to us later.


	11. Closed His Eyes

**This is actually somewhat true. My friend died on Monday from cancer, and I felt really guilty. Simply because I thought I could have done more.**

* * *

I woke up this morning, and he was still there. I smiled and snuggled against him contentedly, happily, glad that it hadn't been a dream. But after squeezing him lightly and asking him to wake up nicely, I knew that there was something wrong with him.

Yeah, alright. So I was pretty stupid that morning. The heart monitor's constant BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP droning sound didn't tip me off. The worried faces looking in at me from the outside didn't tip me off. And hell, even his chest not rising and falling didn't tip me off. It's pretty sad, actually, when you've killed so many people and don't know when a person's dead.

At any rate, needless to say, I freaked. I freaked majorly. I thought that maybe Szayel had come in the night and stolen him away and that this was just a really clever decoy or something. (That man is freaky. I swear to God, he probably has a clone of every single person in the whole of Japan.) But it wasn't. It couldn't be. Szayel's clones weren't terribly precise, and I knew that the clones couldn't mimic the small scar Ulquiorra had running down the side of his arm from the time he'd decided to go emo back in 7th grade.

Well, as you probably have already guessed, it was true. Ulquiorra really was dead. He'd died in the night sleeping next to me, and I wondered if it had been something I'd done. You know, like maybe put too much pressure on his heart or something. And, needless to say, I felt extremely guilty. I thought if, maybe, there was something I could have done, that I didn't do. Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at him last night. Maybe I should have slept in the other bed. Maybe...maybe...

There were so many maybes rushing through my head at that time, and I did not know, in all honesty, what the hell I was supposed to do. Ulquiorra was dead, Szayel was probably screwing some Russian/Siberian pole dancer, and well, here I was, caught in the middle of the fire. I wanted to hurt something, wanted to scream, wanted to do anything to help let out the sadness, but there wasn't much I could do.

Well, alright, maybe a little bit I could do.

Grabbing Ulquiorra's dead body as gently as I could, I disconnected the tubes quickly and just ran out with him. I mean, yeah, it sounds funny when you hear about it, but it really isn't. I mean, here I am, with a dead body in my arms, doing, like, football plays to get past the nurses and the doctors and god knows who else was standing out there in the corridor to see me grieve. Come on, now. I'm not Noah from The Notebook or anything. Seriously.

So I ran, I ran home, and, pretty surprisingly, nobody caught me. Of course, this is at, what? 2 in the morning? Who's really gonna take the time to arrest some guy with a "mannequin" at two in the morning?

At any rate, I'm sitting at home now. Ulquiorra's sitting beside me. He looks like such an angel. You know, like a dark angel or something. But an angel nevertheless. I'm not really feeling sad right now, and I don't know why. It's as though Ulquiorra never left my life or anything, and it's as though Szayel had never come in and disrupted us. Well, alright, how I disrupted us. It's like that. Just an average morning at home.

Except, of course, you know. He's dead.

Alright. Here's the game plan, folks. I'm going to kill Szayel tomorrow, or whenever he comes back from that ridiculous "business trip." How? Abuse. I mean, why not? I have nothing to lose. Everything has been taken from me, or at least everything I've ever cared about. Material possessions don't mean that much to me. I mean, your laptop wouldn't mean that much to you if your soulmate just died from tuberculosis which had been started by abuse, would it? If it would, I must ask you: Did you ever really care about your soulmate?

Besides, the reason Ulquiorra even had tuberculosis in the first place was because of abuse. Szayel abused him on a daily basis, and I know. The scars are there to prove it. The abuse got to be too much for his frail heart, and, well, you can see where that ended up. Dying in the wee hours of morning in my arms. Yep.

I mean, and besides, Szayel has it coming to him too. He's a suspect on the 'Serial Killer' list, the list that I should be on but I'm not. But after a few days, there won't be any need for me even to turn myself in, because I'll be dead. And it's not like I'll mind. I'm not one of those selfish suicidals. I mean, nobody really cared about me except for Ulquiorra, and he's dead. So, once I'm dead, I'll be with him. And that's what I want. I'm sure that's what he wants too. Or, you know, at least, his soul.

The only thing bad about killing Szayel would be that perhaps Szayel might go to the same place as us, and then it would be an all out cosmic war. All over again.

Ulquiorra really does look like an absolute angel. I mean, this isn't the type of person you'd see on the street and think, "Oh, hey, he's dating a serial killer!" No. He looks like an angel. Well, alright, maybe if he was fair-haired and had a bit more of a tan, and blue eyes, then he might be the average angel. But Ulquiorra's not average. He never has been, never will be.

Besides, I think I can pretend he's not dead, so I can stop the waterworks until after I kill Szayel, at which point I won't have tears to cry because I'll be dead. In all honesty, Ulquiorra looks like he's sleeping. Like he just sat down and closed his eyes.


	12. Heart Transfers

**I can't believe how well this story has progressed. Thanks to all of you for your kind and supportive reviews!**

* * *

Szayel is supposed to come back from his so-called, self-proclaimed "business trip" today. And, well, I hate to say it, but this going to be way easy. Easy as chocolate pie on a summer day. Easy like that lady living across the street who'd sell herself for 20 bucks and a beer. Not like I care. I don't swing that way, thank you very much. Seriously, there are times like this when I am really, very glad that I am not American. Here in Japan, we don't make a big deal out of gay people. But over there...no, over there there has to be official laws about restrictions and everything. And you guys call yourselves 'The Free World'? Right....(Skyskater is actually Yes on 8...so...yeah)

Since Szayel is, of course, going to be picked up in one of his luxury cars, I suppose I'll just beat up the chaffeur, take his outfit, pick up Szayel, and ambush him at his own house. And it is going to work. I can feel it in my bones.

Since there's nothing particularly of interest right now (and for all of you who are wondering what I've done to Ulquiorra, I have not done anything. I swear to God I have not. I'm not such a sick bastard that I'd go and screw a dead person. Honestly. That's just wrong. Plus, wouldn't it be all cold and icky and...okay, I can tell I'm grossing you out here, so I'll just stop.), so I suppose I'll write you back after I have mentioned pink haired freak tied up someplace in his own house. Not dead, mind you. It just won't be the same if I write to you after he's dead. Nah. You'd miss out on that, and this documentary is meant to be informational. And please, I beg of you, if you don't like blood or graphic descriptions or anything (okay, okay, if you didn't like the way I described the deaths in the earlier chapters) then don't read this chapter. Skip ahead, because I don't want your moms after me harping about how I infected your "innocent" little minds. But mind you, you'll be missing some pretty good stuff.

* * *

Excuse my writing. It's kind of hard to write steadily and evenly while you are in a vehicle and just so happen to be the driver.

It was easy enough to convince the guy to let me have his outfit. Instead of beating him up, which was completely unnecessary, I just gave him a coupon to "Club Blood". You know, that harem place that's made for all sexualities. And I must say, they have some really HOT pole dancers. Of course, not like I'd ever cheat on Ulquiorra. I'm not that kind of guy.

Basically, Szayel is in the back seat right now, and the reality is sinking in. I could kill him RIGHT NOW. But I'll wait. I mean, there's no need to stain the inside of a perfectly good Lexus with someone who doesn't deserve it, right? Besides, it's kind of funny to hear him yapping on his Razr about the prices of scalpels and how they're going to be going up in the next decade and about how he's expecting a rise in patients over the next decade. I don't know why, but recombinant humans seem to be the rage right now. And the mask on the side of my face does not count as recombinant.

Little does pink haired freak know that he won't be around to see what happens in the next decade. I'll make sure of that.

Oh, shit. Green light. Gotta go, see you back at the house.

* * *

Well, we're here. I practically tossed the keys to Szayel's next door teenage neighbor (poor kid! I'd hate to be him!), ambushed the pink haired freak, who, by the way, smells sickeningly of permanent marker (why? I dunno), and ran inside the house with him. I don't think anybody saw me, except for the teenage neighbor, and I already gave him a Lexus. So why would he tell? I mean, seriously. I guess he's used to these kinds of things by now. Yet another example of a life that Szayel's ruined.

So anyway, he's tied up to his own bed right now, blindfolded, bound, you know, the works. And hey, I'm not gonna lie to you, it might have been kinky in any other situation, and if it hadn't been him. If it had been someone else, on the other hand, someone with dark green eyes and a silky voice, hey, I wouldn't mind. I'd tap that.

But, of course, that guy's dead, and Szayel's here, which he shouldn't be. And I honestly cannot tell you whether the guy is freaked out, scared, or even if he's amused by all of this. He has that patented dead fish look that I assume he gives parents when he tells them their child is about to die (the child that he will keep alive so that he can go and molest them at home...I swear, Szayel is giving Gin a run for his money about the title of Japanese Michael Jackson), except for that creepy little smile that he seems to have on his being at all times.

And then he speaks.

"Well, well, Grimmjow, so it's been you. All this time, and I was wondering who was brave, and stupid, enough to try to do this kind of thing. And here you are, and here I am. And I suppose it's come down to this."

"...And you knew it was me how?"

"That chauffeur's cap doesn't cover all of your shockingly wild mess of blue hair. It's kind of obvious, I hate to say it. But how did you get him to give up his position? I'm interested in that."  
"I gave him a coupon to Club Blood."  
"Ah, of course. The prostitution club. He likes those kinds of things, I suppose. Quite unlike me. I prefer...single things, not so many distractions that I can't handle them all at once."

I can't believe that we're talking like this, like old friends. But I suppose it won't matter anyway. In a few hours, he'll be dead, and so will I.

"You killed him." I'm surprised my voice comes out even.  
"Oh, did I now? And how, may I ask, did I kill your darling Ulquiorra that was never yours to begin with?"

"You KNOW how! Stop playing games, Grantz!"  
"Oh, I see. We're on a last name basis now, are we? Should I call you Jeagerjacques, then?"  
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

And it's first blood. His. And I have to tell you, that's not a big deal or anything. That guy is SICK, in so many ways. I mean, he has like, this power thingy that if you injure him really badly, he goes inside you, and then eats his way OUT of you, and you're dead. Seriously. It's like that vampire baby in Breaking Dawn, but not...

Okay, so anyway, before I went off on that whole Breaking Dawn comment, Szayel and I were having the starts of what might have been a perfectly civil conversation, if he hadn't been so damn arrogant. And then, as I had known they would, the mind games start.

"Well, well, Grimmjow, I must say this is quite a lot. More than I expected. I would never have imagined you would be the type of person to go to these measures for Ulquiorra."  
"And why the fuck not?" Another wound, this one breaking some of his ribs, causing him to cough blood. Like Ulquiorra, except this sick bastard isn't diseased.

"My, my," he murmurs through the blood, "I must say you really do care about him. More than I ever would."  
"Then how the fuck did you get him to love you? HOW?!"  
And it's anger. There's no other way to really describe what I'm feeling right now. I hate the guy.

The thud of fists against flesh echos throughout the room, and the masochistic little bastard, he's laughing, as though this is what he wants me to do. He's already bleeding and bruised like hell, and it's still not enough. Until he manages to speak through his laughter:

"Goodness gracious, if he was that important to you, perhaps I should have killed him sooner?"  
"SHUT UP!"

And I'm breathing hard, like I've just run a 50-mile marathon or something, and here he is, still tied to his bed, bleeding and bruised, but laughing his ass off, like I just told the world's funniest joke or something. And it's annoying me. It really is.

"What the fuck is so damn funny?" I hiss, grabbing his neck and squeezing. Not enough to kill, but enough to make him gasp for breath like a fish out of water.

"I never asked him to love me. I just gave him a better place to live in. A place where he didn't have to worry about waiting up for hours just for someone to get home. He wanted that. And you couldn't give it to him."

My hand squeezes tighter around his neck, and yet he keeps babbling all these things that...well, that are true, but that I don't want to hear.

"Ulquiorra loved me more than he ever loved you. He didn't have to worry about a murderer sleeping in his own bed every night. He didn't have to worry about that, and you put the strain on his heart, the strain that caused him to have that horrible disease. So, all in all, wouldn't you say that it's all your fault, Grimmjow?"

The way he says my name, taunting, just asking to be killed. But I can't finish him off yet. There's still something, something he's holding back from me. I know there is.

"Spit it out already, Szayel, so I can kill you. You're boring me."

"Oh, am I now? Pardon me for wasting your precious time. But why would it matter? Isn't today the only day you have left, anyway?"

"Get on with it already."

"I don't think you're getting it, Grimmjow. You have mere minutes before your own death. I made sure of that."  
"What the fuck are you smoking?"  
"Dearest Ulquiorra was only too willing to be the first in line for my latest recombinant experiments. Except instead of fusing him with an animal, I fused him with another human. Someone that's in this room right now."

"Your fucking point being what, exactly?"  
"Ulquiorra asked me to fuse himself with you. So, one night while you were sleeping off drunkenness or whatever it is you do besides murder people all those nights you left him alone, we took a piece of you. Your heart, specifically. Alright, okay, so I did it. He wouldn't."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"  
"Yep. I mean, we, I didn't take a large piece of it, because that would have been far too noticeable, and I wouldn't have been able to prolong your death until today. But that piece that I took, it was pretty important. It's connected to one of the main arteries in your body, so it plays an important part in pumping blood through you. Not that you'd know."

"And then, of course, I fused it with his own heart, and supposedly that piece that I took carried some of your emotions. He turned narcissistic, in a way, because he had your feelings of love for him. He also became slightly rebellious and had anger towards me. However, the other, larger portion of his heart still loved me for giving him what he wanted. Conflicting emotions, you see. The positive one always wins."

"He was so easy to control. I gave him what he wanted, and he respected me, loved me, hell, cared for me. And yet he was so oblivious to what was going on around him. He didn't know what damage I had done to you, and maybe he didn't care. Because he loved ME, Grimmjow. Not you. ME. Because you never cared about him, did you?"

I was spacing out just listening to him babble on, but at that point, I almost lost control and almost snapped his neck in half.

"And you can say honestly that you did?"  
"Why, of course I did. He wanted -"  
"That's not good enough, Szayel. Ulquiorra wanted a lot of things in life. And I know, and you know, that you can't buy love."

"Right. Sure. Whatever you say, Grimmjow. I'm sure it'll be good to humor you before you die anyway."

My hand's still wrapped tightly around his neck, and that's it. Okay. Fine, Ulquiorra, so I don't have self control. But he deserves it. I swear he does.

And then, on a spur of thought, I rip off the blindfold. I want to see his eyes, see what he's thinking right before he dies. But somehow...I can't do it anymore. It's like I don't have control of my hands anymore. And when my eyes look up at him, he's smiling. Smiling sadistically.

"Can't move your hands? Oh, that's too sad."  
"What did you do to me?!"  
"Well, if I'd just put your heart into Ulquiorra, he'd probably have had a blockage or something because hearts aren't meant to have an extra piece sticking off the side. So it had to go somewhere, right?"

The words hit me like a train. Oh shit.

"So, technically, since the positive emotion always wins out, you're somewhat in love with me. Not fully in love, of course, because Ulquiorra was just too easy. Easy enough to consider going back to you. And that's why you can't kill me. You won't be able to, because you're in LOOOOOVE with me. You're infatuated. So, might as well give it up now. Not going to be able to finish me anyway."

* * *

**I love suspense. Really, I do. But you probably hate me. xD**

**Review and I'll write the last and final chapter!**


	13. Just Like Us

**Well, this fantastic story (all my stories are fantastic by the way) is coming to a close. **

**Yes, there will be an epilogue. Not in this story though because it would ruin the effect. Ya know, 13 chapter and all that. Congrats to those of you who managed to figure that out on your own.**

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"So, darling...." The way he drags out the word, as though we're lovers, makes me want to smash his face in. But, of course, you know. I no longer have control of my own hands. I mean, honestly, what the hell? Did he give me the piece of Ulquiorra's heart that controlled his hands or something? And seriously, the look in his amber eyes is just...aggravating. You know, like when you want to hurt someone really badly, but you can't? Yeah, that's what it's like right now.

"Don't call me darling."  
"And why not? After all, you are part of him. He loved it when I called him that. Made him feel like his lover wasn't someone who didn't care, who stayed out all night killing and doing -"  
"SHUT UP!"

Seriously, when you're an inch from death, like Szayel is now, and it makes you feel high, I think that's when you really know that that person has some serious problems. Honestly. Getting high off life, I can understand. But getting high off death? That's like, a total buzz kill to how I felt after I killed someone. Someone (or people) who, in all honesty, deserved it. I mean, the Kasais had a family man who had a huge issue with his temper and who went driving off once every week to get drunk and probably screw someone else, someone who'd tell him he was handsome just to get an extra buck or two and a beer. And the Suzukis, well, I mean, she was pregnant. I don't really believe in pregnancy before marriage, if you know what I mean. Now, if it was rape, that would be a different story. But it wasn't. So, in that case, they really did deserve it at that point. Hey, I was doing their parents a FAVOR! They should be thanking me!

An inch from death. That's what he is right now. And who knows, maybe I am too. I can't exactly say, because I don't know how long I'm going to tick with a different heart. I've never really been one to calculate the time I have left, simply because I enjoy life to the fullest. I don't want to have to worry if I'm going to die in a minute, two minutes, an hour, a few seconds, that sort of thing.

"If you hated me so much, why didn't you come earlier? You might have had more control then. You might have been able to kill me then. But no. Why now? Just tell me why. Of course, there are many things I wonder. Like why Mr. Schiffer didn't ever bother to scream my name when we played at night."

I don't answer, and I don't think he's expecting one. I'm coming to grips with this, grips with the knowledge that as soon as I die, he'll be able to wrest his way out of this situation and he'll probably pin it all on me. Oh, and yeah, if I do die before I somehow figure out how to kill him, that'll really suck because I won't have a happy and fulfilled death. Honestly. This is the only thing I want at this moment, and God can't give it to me. Makes me wonder if there really is a God....

Then a sigh from him. "If you're not going to do anything more, Mr. Jeagerjacques, you may as well let me go and give up. It's obvious who's the superior one."

And that's all it is. He's taunting me. Trying to make me angry, so that I'll try to kill him again. So that he can get high again. There's something seriously wrong with this man.

And that's when it hits me. A way that I could destroy him. A way that I could kill Szayel. I'll have to hurry, though.

I leave him there on the bed, securing him even further with reiatsu cuffs so that he couldn't escape even if he'd wanted to. Which I don't think he'll want to. He's probably interested as to what I'm going to do.

Running through the house, leaving all the mirrors intact and carrying the ones that could be carried to his room. Smashing the picture frames, though, and ripping up the parts of the pictures that have him in the picture, leaving just the ones with other people or with Ulquiorra. The ripped up parts I flush down the toilet and the other parts I carry to the room as well. He's intrigued, now. That much I can tell.

Okay, fine, so I'm not going according to Ulquiorra's books. But hey, he's dead. And I'm here. Life doesn't always go by the rules, I'm sad to say. If it did, that would be hell of boring.

"And what, may I ask, are you doing, Mr. Jeagerjacques?"  
I smile at him now, my work done. All the mirrors are now in his room, all the photos of people excepting him. "Erasing you."

Setting the pictures in front of each of the mirrors, it starts a kaleidoscope effect so now he's surrounded by all these people, magnified and amplified to look their real size. All the people he's ever known, all the people whose children he's killed, Ulquiorra, everybody, basically. And I can tell that it's working, just the way I wanted it to. It's remorse. Something that he's never felt before, and something that he should have the right to feel before he dies.

"What...what are you doing to me?"

"It's simple, really. I can't believe you yourself didn't think of this. Ulquiorra was easy enough to come back to me, yet selfish enough to keep you to himself. He liked the danger of living with me, yet the safety of living with you. While he was with me, he erased you from his mind completely. But while he lived with you, he never erased me from his mind, or his heart."

"What's your point?"

He's still not getting it. This is too funny! "He loved me all along. He was with you to create an illusion of love, of safety, for himself that he perhaps...did not think that I could give him. But all the while, I was with him. He imagined me every night he was with you. Imagined me while you had sex with him. And you wondered why he never cried out your name? Yeah. Because it was me. Me. Me. Me. It was all about me. And even though he was scared enough to turn to you for support, he was selfish enough to keep me all to himself. So, therefore, hypothetically speaking, I can just manipulate the selfish part of that piece of heart you gave me, and therefore, I could kill you."

"So what's with all this mirror shit?"

"I don't know. To make you feel something before you die. Something other than that happy little sadistic feeling you get when you molest a child. But, in all honesty, my dear Mr. Grantz, this is game over for you. The dealer wins. The dealer always wins. Better count your cards next time, huh?"

And then, just like that, he's dead. With a hand and long fingers reaching out, I deftly reach out and snap his neck, surrounded by all the images of people who want to see Szayel dead. And, well, he's dead.

But after that, something's happening to me. I don't know exactly what it is, but it feels as though there is something ticking inside me. Ticking and ticking and ticking. Faster and faster, as though it wants to squeeze out all its ticks and tocks before I die. Ticking fast enough to fulfill a lifetime of ticks and tocks. My clock is running to a stop, and me with it.

Hurrying now, I leave Szayel there, dead in his bed, and start running just dead on to my house. I mean, there isn't time to hail a cab, I gave the Lexus away to some teenager who probably can't even drive, and Ulquiorra's at home, waiting for me. And I'm a pretty fast runner. I think I can make it there before I die.

* * *

And I'm here. Ulquiorra's here. We're a family. The family that he always wanted, that I couldn't give him; the family that we always were; the family that Szayel had never even really tried to break up.

I suppose it is fitting; for me to die at the time it is now. Five o'clock in the morning, halfway between four and six. Beating up Szayel took a lot of time, you know. Abuse doesn't come easily to someone who's used to cut and dried murders, to people who scream instead of taunt.

The sun is coming up right now. I can feel the clock slowing down, and heavily I wrap my arms around Ulquiorra, keeping him close as the sun's first rays streak across the wooden floor. As the sun breaks over the horizon like an egg yolk breaking on a breakfast plate, as the warmth slowly soaks into our bodies and wishes us luck for the coming day.

"Look, Ulquiorra, the sunrise," I whisper into the crook of his neck. "Just like you always wanted to see. We're here, it's here...What more would we want?"

Like me, like Ulquiorra, like us. That's what the sunrise reminds me of. Us. And then...it's gone.

Just

Like

Us.

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**Did you enjoy it??? Please review and note that there will be an epilogue following up to this!**


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